"Cognac - more cognac for Monsieur Lautrec -More cognac for the little gentleman,Monster or clown of the Moulin - quick - Another glass!"The Can CanChorus with their jet net stockingsAnd their red heads rockingHave brought their patrons flocking to the floor.Prince-nez, glancing down from legs advancingTo five fingers dancingOver a menu-card, scorn and adoreProstitutes and skinny flirtsWho crossing arms and tossing skirtsHigh-kick - a quickEye captures all before they fall -Quick lines, thick linesTrace the huge ache under rouge."Cognac - more cognac!" Only the slopOf a charwoman pushing her bucket and mop,And the rattle of chairs on a table top.The glass can fall no further. Time to stopThe charcoal's passionate waltzing with the hand.Time to take up the hat, drag out the sticks, And very slowly, like a hurt crab, stand:With one wry bow to the vanished band,Launch out with short steps harder than high kicksAlong the unspeakable inches of the street.His flesh was his misfortune: but the feetOf those whose flesh was all their fortune beatSoftly as the grey rain fallingThrough his brain recallingMarie, Annette, Jean-Claude and Marguerite.(Jon Stallworthy (1935 - )From Art and Artists Poems Everyman's Library Pocket PoetsDiscovered this poem in a bookshop in Saltaire, West Yorkshire, England and loved it immediately. Thought i'd share it with you - Craig